Misty on a Flame with Rock and Roll
by Captain Blue
Summary: It's really hard to take a nap when someone's playing guitar really, really loud. Pokeshipping


**Rating: **T  
**Characters/Pairings**: Ash/Satoshi & Misty/Kasumi  
**Summary**: It's really hard to take a nap when someone's playing guitar really, really loud.

_This story is dedicated to my one and only girl, my darling Yellow-chwan.  
Thank you for all your support with my writing and believing in me, no matter what.  
_

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If you lived in or around the small town of Pallet these days, you'd wake up to a Dodrio crowing, Pidgeys chirping outside your window, and people animatedly going about their business. Pallet Town was known as the starting point for all aspiring Pokémon Trainers, because Professor Oak lived here in his lab, doing research and tending to all the Pokémon left here by Trainers.

Although, Pokémon wasn't the only thing Oak seemed to be giving out these days, and Misty was determined to give the aging man a piece of her mind... if she had any left by the end of the day, that is. The Cerulean Gym Leader had been staying at the Ketchum residence for the better part of two weeks. She was glad to be able to tend to Togepi more, since she wasn't handing out Cascade Badges every day.

She wasn't glad, however, to have to bunk with the most thick-headed, irritating and irresponsible boy to ever set foot in Kanto. He may be her best friend–and boyfriend–but Ash wasn't being helpful.

The Master-wanna-be in question was now upstairs in his room, for which Misty was thankful for. After going out for a few hours, getting chased by a Growlithe, and almost getting run over by a stray Electrode, all she wanted to do was sit down, put Togepi down for a nap, and maybe get some rest as well.

Yeah, right.

At the exact moment Misty had tucked the sleepy Egg Pokémon into a nice, warm blanket and set him down very gently in a crib (that Delia and Brock had managed to put together), a loud, echoing blast came from Ash's room. Togepi popped up and starting bawling. Misty frowned and picked up Togepi, trying to calm him.

Another cord blasted down, then another, and another. What the devil was Ash doing up there? The red-head stormed upstairs, a crying Togepi downstairs with an indifferent Pikachu, and kicked open the door, temper at maximum level.

Which soon died down, though, the moment she realized what the raven-haired Pokémon Trainer was doing. Ash was bouncing on his bed, his cherry-red Gibson Les Paul guitar (from Oak, no less) in his hands, wearing nothing but a pair of tighty-whities and a red tie backwards around his head. Ridiculous.

"What are you doing?" Misty asked, arms crossed and leaning in the doorway, trying her best not to smile. Lest she loose her concentration and forgot she came up here to pound Ash's head in.

"Playing my guitar," Ash replied, now stopping the repetitive up-and-down motion, his hands strumming on the strings to a rock-and-roll song playing from his computer.

"So what's with the underpants?" Misty asked, eyeing the name of the song on the open window: "Welcome to the Jungle."

"Um... drug addiction?"

"Nice try," Misty reached up and pulled on the leather strap of the guitar, pulling Ash down on the bed. He gulped as he saw the malicious face Misty was now wearing. "I'm trying to put Togepi down for a nap and you just woke him up. You do that one more time and I am not letting you sneak into my morning shower again. Deal?"

"...Deal."

Satisfied, Misty turned on her heel and sat on the couch again. She saw Togepi resting against a curled-up Pikachu. Glad that she didn't have to work her "baby" to sleep, Misty pulled her legs up, stretched, and closed her eyes.

Only to wake up to a different song, which was, thankfully, a lot quieter than last time. Glancing to make sure the two Pokémon on the floor were still asleep–which they were–Misty trudged upstairs and pushed open the door to Ash's bedroom.

He was fully dressed this time, but he still had his guitar in his hands and singing along horribly off-key to "Black Magic Woman." Ash noticed her in the doorway again and grinned broadly as the chorus started up again.

Misty ignored him and moved to the computer, rolling her eyes at Ash before stopping the music. Ash put his guitar against the wall and looked at her.

"Why'd you do that?"

"You woke me up."

"I turned the sound down," protested Ash, pointing to his amplifier, the volume knob–which was on ear-bleeding ten before–which was now turned down to an acceptable six.

"Even so," Misty replied, crossing her legs, the edge of her lips turned in the smallest hint of a smile. "You should know better than to wake a sleeping girl."

Ash gulped, remembering something Brock had told him years ago: "Hell hath no fury like Misty scorned." That piece of advice came a bit too later, however. Ash was already dating the spunky red-head for a month or so when Brock felt this was "absolutely important".

"You going to apologize or what?" Misty asked.

"I... I'm sorry?"

"You can do better than that." Misty replied, and moved from the chair to next to Ash on the bed. "Now, I'm going to let you go this time. But if you wake up anyone trying to rest, be they family, neighbor or girlfriend–"

"I'm gonna be more brain-dead than a comatose Slowpoke." finished Ash, sighing dejectedly. He had heard this a thousand times but it wasn't anything new.

"You got it," Misty said triumphantly, beaming. She patted his shoulder and went to the door. Then she paused in thought, fumbling with something on the side facing the door and bit her lip in frustration.

Ash wished he could see whatever it was she was doing, but his question was answered when a piece of fabric came flying towards him. He caught it, stared at it, and turned a deep shade of red. When he glanced back up at Misty, who was grinning.

"Something from your number one fan," she teased, pulling up the strap from her tank top back to her shoulder which had fallen over when she had pulled out her bra. "But keep practicing." She left.

"R-right," Ash stammered, and picked up his guitar, rapidly strumming the ending of his previous song, his one-track mind set on playing a song for her... one which didn't involve him jumping up and down half-naked like a lunatic.

He'd call it "Misty on a Flame with Rock and Roll."

He just hope he didn't have to ruin three thousand guitars or actually set a city on fire.

That's what concerts were for.

FIN

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End file.
